2 October 2013

Sushi, Sashimi & Samurai

I am
sitting in yet another hotel room in another city – in another country. This
time I am in the Roppongi Hills district of the city of Tokyo. I am in Japan.

It has
been a long and eventful day.

My trip
to Japan was not a planned or scheduled one. I was ordered here. I am ordered
to go to many places by the English for whom I work and in most instances I am
OK with this - although sometimes it annoys me.

As do
they.

However
on this occasion I do not really mind. I like Tokyo and Japan and it has been a
while since I was last here. Tokyo is a crazy place.

It is my
sort of town.

I caught
the overnight flight from Singapore on an airline that I shall not name. There shall
be no free advertising in my writing.

I am
comfortably ensconced in the hotel in which I normally stay – itis very luxurious and the staff are most attentive.
Courtesy in Japan is the norm and I greatly enjoy the custom of bowing that
goes on. The deeper the bow one receives the more respect is being displayed.

For each
bow that I receive in Japan I return one back.

It is
the Japanese way.

I flew
here last night on the overnight service and was seated at the front of the
plane. A very small, demure and immaculately dressed elderly Japanese businessman
occupied the seat next to me. As I took my allotted aisle seat we each nodded
and uttered hellos. Overhead luggage was stored, hot towels were received,
dinner menus were distributed and not long after take off I decided to open
pleasantries and initiate a conversation.

I like
conversations.

It
quickly became apparent that the little fellow spoke no English and it was then
that I noticed that in the seat across the aisle from me sat a very tall and
incredibly beautiful Japanese woman. She was quite young and was nicely but
simply attired - and she was adorned in what appeared to be most expensive but tasteful
jewellery.

This was
no bimbo. She reeked of elegance and Chanel Number Five.

My
attempt at conversation with my immediate seat-neighbour prompted her
intervention and it also seemed to simultaneously generate the interest of a
very large Japanese man who was seated next to her – on the window seat - and
two equally large Japanese men seated immediately behind me.

The dude
had an entourage.

The word
entourage is quite obviously French in origin. It is derived from the word
‘entourer’ which means ‘to surround’.

I
noticed the interest in my attempt at conversation by the large
Japanese-men-seated-behind-me because two pairs of hands appeared on the back
of my seat. Their fingernails were immaculately manicured. I felt the hands before
I saw them - as my seat was pulled back slightly - and when I saw the hands I
could not help but notice that of the four hands that were present – only
eighteen fingers were displayed. Both dudes were missing the little pinkies of
their left hands.

They
were Yakuza.

Yakuza
is not an Eastern brand of yoghurt – it is the Japanese mafia.

The
gorgeous and elegant Japanese lady leaned over the aisle to me and as she did
so she uttered something in Japanese that made the two nine-fingered men that
were behind me immediately sit down. She then informed me in a completely
unaccented voice that the gentleman seated next to me could speak no English.
She told me – without prompting – that she was his personal assistant and she
would be happy to interpret.

I
thanked her and I introduced myself. I told her that my name is Peter – because
it is – and she smiled and told me that her name was Myoki.

We shook
hands.

I was
already a bit alarmed by the fact that Yakuza were seated behind me and I also felt
disarmed by the smile of Myoki. The combination of being both alarmed and
disarmed at the same time was a new experience for me. I am a great believer in
love at first sight and I have been afflicted before. The Italians call this calpo di fulminate – the thunderbolt. I
had no illusions though - this woman was way out of my league.

I
thanked Myoki-san and then smiled again and then I shook hands with the old
dude seated next to me. When he stood I also stood – and whilst he was able to
stand at full height – I had to hunch a little.

We then
did shallow bows to each other.

You will
note that I have referred to Myoki as Myoki-san. This is a Japanese politeness
thing. One adds a ‘san’ to the end of a Japanese name to demonstrate respect.
When meeting someone important you should refer to them by their surname and
add a ‘san’. If there is less formality you add a ‘san’ to their first name.
When Myoki-san introduced me to the little Japanese dude I referred to him by
his surname with a ‘san’.

I shall
not reveal neither his first nor last name here for reasons that will soon
become apparent.

I dare
not.

We all
then took our seats and some rapid Japanese was spoken between Myoki-san and
the little old chap. Myoki then asked me if I lived in Singapore and whether I
was going to Tokyo on business. I answered in the affirmative to both questions
and asked the reverse of her. I asked whether she and her colleagues lived in
Tokyo and whether they had been to Singapore on business.

She also
answered in the affirmative.

Little
Japanese dude fired some rapid Japanese at Myoki who then translated and asked
me what I did for a living and for whom I worked. I told her. When I announced
the name of my Employer she remained expressionless but I could see the little
fellow get mildly excited. Some people do – as my Company is a very well known
brand. I went out of my way to explain to Myoki that I was no one important in
my firm but she asked me for a business card regardless.

I knew
this was coming.

The
Japanese love business cards.

I do
not.

I do
confess that I hesitated a little in this instance and I mentally asked myself
the question - did I really want to give my contact details to someone who may
well be an Oyabun? Then I decided “what the fuck?” I suspect that many of the
English for whom I work are also Oyabun – they are simply English variations of
them.

An Oyabun
is the equivalent of a ‘Godfather’ in
the Italian Mafia. Its literal translation is ‘family head’.

I had to
stand up to remove some business cards from my wallet, which prompted both
Myoki, and the little dude to stand again as well. The Japanese method in the swapping
of business cards is a formal and respectful process that I am very familiar
with and have done many times before. It involves the passing of the card with
two hands to the recipient accompanied by a small bow. I did this with both
Myoki and the little godfather and then we all took our seats again. When I was
standing I took a quick peak at the big boys seated behind me. Their faces were
impassive but I could tell that they were watching me very carefully. I knew
that I needed to be very careful about what I said.

I am
very often not very careful with what I say.

It is
one of my many character flaws.

There
was quite a bit of three-way conversation between the godfather, Myoki and
myself over the next three or four hours which was initially very formal and
general. I was asked if I had been to Japan many times before to which I replied
that I had. I asked the same of them about Singapore and they informed me that
they were also regular visitors. As time passed our conversation became less
formal and more interesting – as conversations often do. We talked about likes
and dislikes and poets and dreams. We discussed food and books and favourite
things.

We
laughed quite a bit.

At one
stage Myoki asked me what were some of the things that I liked most about Japan
and I told her that I very much liked sushi, sashimi and the samurai. At the
mention of samurai the little man’s interest seemed to perk up and Myoki
explained that the godfather had a very extensive collection of ancient samurai
swords. She asked me whether I would have time or interest in seeing them. I
replied by asking Myoki if the Pope was Catholic. She laughed at this and then
translated it to the little man and he too laughed loud and long. He slapped
his knees a bit as well while he laughed which I thought was a bit weird.

It
wasn’t that funny.

I shall
not explain the Samurai here as all should be aware that these were the once
great warriors of Japan and they are famous for their fighting skills, their
code of honour and their beautiful but deadly swords. If you do not know of
them then I must politely but firmly ask that you return to your planets of
origin and leave we earthlings in peace.I know that we must seem like a barbaric and brutal species that appear
intent on self-destruction - but some of us at least mean no harm.

After a
while the elderly Oyabun fell asleep. Myoki and I talked a little more about literature
and she seemed genuinely delighted when I told her that Haruki Murakami was one
of my favourite writers and that I had read all of his books.

Then I
fell asleep.

We were
all awakened in the morning by the announcement that the plane was soon to
commence its descent into Tokyo and we sipped green tea. The old chap asked
Myoki to ask me where I was staying in the city and when I gave her the name of
my hotel in Roppongi Hills it triggered off a long string of Japanese between
him and his assistant. Some instructions were barked at one of the big boys
seated behind me who grunted some “hais” in response.

‘Hai’ is
‘yes’ in colloquial Japanese – but it would also be the noise that I would
probably make were I to chop off a head using a samurai sword.

Myoki
then asked me if I had made arrangements to be transported from the Narita airport
to my hotel and I told her that I had. I told her that I had arranged for
myself to catch either the bus or the train to Roppongi Hills. I informed Myoki
that despite the great wealth of my employer it did not allow such underlings
as me to get a hotel car or a taxi from the Narita airport. It is a very long
way from the city – nearly one hundred kilometres – and a taxi fare is
generally about two hundred American dollars. I told Myoki that I had caught a
taxi on one trip and used my corporate credit card and my Employer had given me
a severe kicking. She laughed at this reply and she shook her black lustrous
hair and I felt the thunderbolt again. I fell in even deeper love with her.

I fell
head over heels.

As our
plane was taxiing along the runway after landing, Myoki
asked me if I would mind if they helped with my transport arrangements to my
hotel and I told her that I wouldn’t mind at all. I told her that it would be
an honour.

Another
entourage greeted the Oyabun when we alighted the plane and there was again much
bowing. Some random Japanese dude grabbed my bag and we were whisked to an area
of the airport to which I had never before been. I was asked for my passport
and it was whisked off and then it was returned fully stamped within a few
minutes.

I was
most impressed already.

We were
then whisked through a little room and back onto the edge of a tarmac where a big
black van was waiting.

There
was much whisking.

Whisking
is the act of moving very quickly.

It is
not drinking whiskey.

I
noticed when we got into the van that the big Japanese guys that were
accompanying us all had extensive tattoos on their arms. They were very well
dressed in dark suits but I got flashes of ink when they handled the bags. Any
doubt that I had that these guys beingYakuza evaporated
immediately.

It was
very exciting.

We had
but a short drive to a large helicopter that we all entered. I do not know what
sort of helicopter it was – for I know little about such things. I sat up near
the front and was introduced to the pilot and the co-pilot. The pilot was an elderly
American guy and the co-pilot was Japanese. The pilot shook my hand warmly and
told me that his name was Buzz. He seemed to be familiar with the entourage and
he was wearing a brown leather bomber jacket and a slightly manic grin on his
face – and pants of course. I suspect that he may well be a Vietnam War veteran
and he could quite possibly have ingested a fair bit of Agent Orange.

Buzz spoke
some rapid Japanese into a crackling radio and some rapid Japanese was returned.
I could not understand a word apart from a “Roger
that” at the end of the conversation before he gave a ‘thumbs up’ to no one in
particular then a somewhat insane laugh and we lurched into the air.

‘Roger That’ and ‘Roger Wilco’ are pilot speak. ‘Roger’ is a word used in one prominent
radio alphabet to stand for the letter ‘R’. These alphabets use words to
represent letters and such alphabets are known as "radio alphabets"
or "phonetic alphabets". They are international. The alphabet in
which Roger stands for ‘R’ begins "Able, Baker, Charlie, Dog" - and
was the official radio alphabet of the U.S. Navy up until 1954. Another
familiar alphabet - the NATO phonetic alphabet - which is now used by the
International Civil Aviation Organization and the Federal Aviation
Administration, begins "Alpha, Bravo, Charlie, Delta". This alphabet
uses the word ‘Romeo’ for the letter ‘R’.

The ‘R’ that the word ‘Roger’ is substituting for stands for ‘Received’
and indicates that a radio message has been received and understood.

‘Wilco’ is not from a radio alphabet – it is a military
abbreviation for ‘will comply’ and is used to indicate that a message that has
been received and will be complied with. In military circles it is necessary to
acknowledge receipt of a message by saying ‘Roger’ before indicating compliance
with a ‘Wilco’ – and hence the frequent combination “Roger. Wilco”.

Roger is also a slang word for a penis – used most commonly by the English. It arose
in the seventeenth century most probably because of its vague association with
a spear shape. To the crass population of England – of which there are many - the
term "to roger" became a slang verb form meaning "to have sex
with or to penetrate" and for reasons completely unknown by me often
particularly refers to anal sex.

The English are a very nasty and vulgar race at
times.

The flight from Narita to the city took about
nine minutes in the helicopter and the views of Tokyo were simply spectacular.
The bus or train journey that I normally take is generally at least two hours
in duration. We landed on the roof of the hotel that I am booked into and two
butler type dudes greeted me. I thanked my hosts and the angel that is Myoki
told me that they would send a car for me this evening. She told me that I
would be driven to meet with the Oyabun and to see his samurai sword
collection. Buzz gave me a military salute and then he tilted his head back in another
mad laugh and then the big bird took off again.

I was ushered straight to my suite where I had a
shower, madesome work calls and sent some emails.
So here I now sit awaiting a call from the concierge to tell me that the car
from the Yakuza dudes has arrived.